


Birthdays Aren't Sad

by misha_collins_butt



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom, implied Sabriel - Fandom, sabriel - Fandom
Genre: Angel!Gabriel, Angst, Destiel Angst, Destiel Fluff, Fluff, Helpful!Cas, Implied Sabriel, M/M, Sad, angel!cas - Freeform, angsty, aw, depressed!Dean, established Destiel, human!dean, imolies major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_collins_butt/pseuds/misha_collins_butt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine years and two months.<br/>That's how long he's been gone.<br/>And that's how long Dean's been truly broken.</p><p> </p><p>(Kind of?) warning: IMPLIED major character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthdays Aren't Sad

**Author's Note:**

> tried to convert kg to lbs to the best of my abilities, please don't murder me if it's wrong. Also: I don't have a beta so all mistakes are mine.

"Dean...this isn't healthy anymore," Cas whispers, a concerned tone seising his usually factual voice.

"I know, Cas," he laughs defensively and scrubs a hand down his cheek sprinkled with week old stubble. "I know but...I loved...love...him." He locks his gaze with Cas', pleading and begging with the angel to understand.

Cas only closes his eyes and hangs his head, then disappears before Dean can say anything else.

Dean lowers his own head and brings his arm around behind it, then scratches at the back of his neck, just now noticing how long his hair's gotten and wincing at the realisation of how many weeks he's spent in bed, relying on Cas to bring him water he barely drinks and food he doesn't eat.

His eyes twitch to his arm which has gotten uncomfortably thin.

He winces yet again at the amount of time he realises it'll take to rebuild the muscle he's lost.

Dean huffs and pushes himself out of bed, just barely shaking with the effort this takes and from using muscles he rarely uses anymore. He creeps across the room and pulls on his jacket. His movements, he notices, not for the first time, are jerky and slow, and he puts an unnatural amount of effort into the simplest things; putting one foot in front of the other, shrugging on his leather jacket which hangs a little too loosely from his bony shoulders, snatching his Baby's keys from the table and twisting the doorknob to open the door - all trembling and weak and he hates that he feels emaciated and that his body is acting like it is, too, when, in all reality, he's only maybe 15 pounds lighter than his usual 175 pounds. He's lost muscle, though, ones that he actually enjoyed having and the misuse doesn't help.

Either way, he's never really been one to not do something because his body told him to stop. Hunting, sex, eating, driving around all day. His body has constantly told him to stop doing those things, but it's never actually stopped him.

He pulls up to the market place and ambles in, getting odd stares from many and dismissive glances from some.

He doesn't care though.

He's got a purpose here, no matter how many people stare, no matter how pissed Cas'll be about Dean exerting himself like this, no matter how much energy this'll take...no matter how much he doesn't want to see... _him_...right now. He's going to do this, even if it's the last thing he does, even if it kills him.

He struggles carrying the items to the register and then to the Impala, but manages without help. 

He's never wanted help. That's just who he is, who he's always been: Dean - Independence, the Man - Denial in human form. The epitome of false confidence.

Cas has helped to some extent and in spite of Dean's vehement refusal. The angel has a little mojo, more stolen grace that Dean wishes the poor guy would agree to replenishing.

But Cas seems just as stubborn and abstaining as Dean, whom the angel has healed to his fullest abilities.

Dean thanked him for trying but told him it was obviously too much for his stolen grace and that he would be fine, would heal on his own.

How big a fuckin' lie was that.

He enters the bunker completely out of breath, and as soon as the door is closed, he leans back against it, his head hanging forward and his hands clutching his knees as chest heaves.

Dean shakes his head at himself, the beginnings of a chastising rant being coalesced in the corners of his mind, and forces the scold out of his vocabulary. Now's not the time to feel guilty about pushing himself a little too far, physically.

He digs through the kitchen, dusting things off and realising how long it's actually been since someone has used any of this stuff. Years. Nine, to be exact. He doesn't cook anymore, and he's sure he's lost most of the skill, but he'll try his damnedest to bake this fuckin' nuisance of a cake.

He hasn't even been in the kitchen for about all of three weeks, has just had Cas bringing him fast food or something he's craving per his own request and per Cas' worried insistance that Dean eat. This depression thing wasn't new, though. Laying in bed, doing nothing but staring at the wall, sleeping, and giving Cas the best bitchface he can muster in this state when the angel tries spoon feeding him - all things that have happened before. Hell, one year, he didn't get out of bed for months on end, lest he need to use the bathroom, or Cas pull him up and take him outside, the angel's eyes drooping the entire time, sagging with tears as he kisses Dean's cheek and runs a hand back over the sallow skin of the other side of the human's face.

He loves Cas, he really does. And he's glad they professed their undying love for eachother (or...whatever) before the...the accident. Because now Cas is still here for him, nine years and two months later, being a concerned boyfriend and yelling at Dean to eat and crying because he wants Dean to get better, some of the most human things the angel's ever done and that he impresses Dean with (and makes him feel guilty with) to this day.

But sometimes...sometimes he needs to do things. Things he probably shouldn't be doing in his physical state.

So he brushes the dust off the pans and preheats the oven and stirs all the ingredients together. And he pours the cake batter, rich and deep brown and stagnant, into the old pan. Sets it in the oven.

He could just have Cas conjure up a cake but...it wouldn't mean as much. At least not to Dean. Maybe... _he_...wouldn't be counting but...but Dean's here and he wants it to count. He wants it to be meaningful.

Dean busies himself with digging his stubby nails - still short because Cas is a friggin' amazing boyfriend and he helps Dean keep his hygiene in check while the human mopes around in bed - beneath the lid of the frosting tub and bites his lip in frustration when he can't lift it.

He hears a flutter of wings behind him and freezes, tensing up and preparing himself for the inevitable disappointment he's sure he'll hear in Cas' voice.

Instead, all he hears is a sigh. Then, he feels Cas's hands sliding gently around his waist and Cas leaning his forehead against the knob at the top of Dean's back.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Dean...why can't you just...I don't know," Castiel's voice is whispered, and muffled by his position behind Dean, but Dean can guess, nonetheless, the expression Cas is wearing now: forlorn and pleading and defeated.

Dean squirms and turns around and his hand finds Cas' jaw, and he lifts the angel's face, capturing Cas's lips in his own in a apologetic kiss.

"I'm sorry, Cas, I am. I really am--"

"You sure as hell don't act like it, Dean."

"-- _but_. I don't _know_...how else to react. This is how it's been my entire life, this is how I was raised. This is the way I learned to mourn people. With cheap whiskey and too much sleep. And...he _is_... _was_...my... my..." Dean growls at what seems to be his constant state of frustration. He can't even say the word. "Well, ya know what I mean, right?"

He turns back around and fiddles with the lid again, and he listens to the sound of Cas' hands dropping back to his trenchcoated sides after a long moment, and the angel's clothes rustling in a silent sigh. 

He hears Cas snap and the lid disappears from under his fingers, and he pauses, dropping his hands to the counter and gripping the edge, staring at the wall or nothing in particular. He feels Cas' arms slip back around his waist before Cas pulls him close, and Dean's hands drop from the counter and lift to his own ashen cheeks, pressing against his eyes to keep him from sobbing.

"Please be better yourself, Dean. I'll be back to bring you dinner...and please try to eat it this time, instead of sitting there and staring at it," Cas whispers. Then he's gone, before Dean can answer with a less than snarky remark about not eating.

The timer beeps suddenly, startling Dean, and he jumps and shakes his head, sighing at his inability to pay attention...of course, that part may not have been all his fault. Cas can be pretty distracting, even when he's downtrodden and terrified for Dean.

Dean shrugs on the red oven mits, removes the pan from the oven and sets it atop the stove, then slips the oven mits off and sets the timer to wait for the cake to cool.

He sits back in the chair at the island in the kitchen and scratches the back of his head.

He knows what he's doing has become unhealthy, that he should let go. But what else is he supposed to do? This man is too important to him. Has always been too important to him. And he can't help loving the man, can't help crying himself to sleep - when he has the energy, of course - about something that happened _nine years ago_.

He sure as hell doesn't enjoy feeling this shitty about it, this guilty and this depressed. He becomes despondent for months sometimes and this month just happens to be one of them. And it sucks.

But at least he's out of bed.

Which seems to make Cas implicitly happy.

Another flutter of wings behind him flings him out of his reeling thoughts and he smiles to himself before turning and catching Cas' gaze.

"Hey, Cas. Just thinking about you," he whispers and Cas offers a half smile, small and genuine and grateful.

"I know, Dean. Your thoughts always somehow come through whenever you think of me," he sets two paper bags on the island in front of Dean and then turns back around, leaning back agains the slab of granite. "Must be the potency of the emotion or...something like that."

Dean chuckles and reaches out, taking Cas's hand in his own and bringing it to his lips. The angel's skin is warm against Dean's generally clammy skin and it's soft against his lips.

"I love you, Cas. I don't think I say that enough. And I don't think I thank you as often as I should--"

"You don't have to thank me, Dean. I already know you love me but...I have to admit I like hearing you say it out loud," Cas turns again and faces Dean, sliding between his legs and brushing a hand back over Dean's cheek then tangling his fingers in the hair that's become longer than it's really ever been. "It means more that way."

Dean raises his eyebrows because Cas just proved the hunter's point about the cake and Cas throws him the angel's best bitchface. He must have realised what he said as he was saying it.

Dean smiles at this and his hand glides up Cas' arm and behind his neck and he tugs Cas down.

"Well, I love you..." He smirks. "You...dumb angel."

"I'm glad I figured out the humans' humour because I would've taken that smart ass little comment too seriously if I hadn't," Cas sneers playfully, then laughs and presses a kiss to Dean's nose.

"Yeah, me too. Of course, I'm not able to laugh at you for not getting classy remarks anymore."

They both snicker and Cas plants another tiny kiss on Dean's nose, then one on his forehead and one on his cheek and one on his other cheek.

"What the hell, Cas."

"I just love you too. A lot."

"I can see that."

Cas's eyes survey Dean's face, probably harbouring far more concern than is worth mentioning.

"How did someone as brave and strong and persistent as you end up with...well, me," Cas whispers, his more human side peeking through the curtains of his angelic tendencies.

"Well, it was in the 'Daily Heaven'. Didn't you get to read about it?" Dean smirks and laughs when Cas jabs him lightly in the stomach. "Come on, angel. You love me."

"Yes, I just said it," Cas' lips move against Dean's neck and Dean's eyes flutter closed. "You'd better know, squirrel."

Dean chuckles at the nickname, one he hasn't heard in...well, in nine years.

But then he looks at the clock and sees the timer for the cake to cool is at :00 and realises he somehow missed the beep.

He pushes out of the stool and away from Cas - or tries to. Cas catches Dean's wrist and pulls him to a stop.

"I wasn't done kissing you," Cas whispers and Dean notices just how broken the angel's voice suddenly sounds. He whips around, a familiar, instinctual worry taking over every one of his reflexes, and finds tears rolling down Castiel's cheeks and a pair of very ashamed looking eyes watching the floor.

Dean squints, realisation dawning.

"Cas are you trying to stop me from visiting him?"

"It's not-" Cas raises his voice and Dean cringes - noticeably - so Cas takes a sniffling breath and calms himself as best he can. "It's not...good for you...Dean, look at what it's done to you in just a month. Look at what it's done to you in the past years."

Dean chews the inside of his cheek and frowns at the insitent explanation.

"Please...Dean, please. Don't go," Cas is shaking his head, tears trembling as they grip onto his stubbly jaw, lips shaking as well, but with terror and anxiety instead of the movement of his head. "Don't...don't go. I don't like this. I don't like seeing you this way. It's...it's horrifying."

"Baby," Dean rasps and pulls Cas in by the waist, kissing the top of his dark brown hair. He holds Cas like this for a long time, Cas's arms bent between them and curled into his own chest and the angel's tears streaking his cheeks and staining Dean's grey shirt. "It's okay. You can come with me if you really have to make sure that I'll be okay. Huh? That sound okay?"

Cas sniffs and nods, his head only going so far as it's tucked beneath Dean's chin.

\---

They arrive promptly at the grassy estate, lumbering out of the Impala, which still runs so smoothly that it's unbelievable she's almost sixty.

Cas reaches for Dean's already shaking hand as they approach, and he stifles a few shudders, himself.

"It's okay," Dean whispers, not all that reassuringly. "It's fine. Cas, you're okay. You'll be okay."

Cas only nods and tunes into the muffled sobbing of another angel - pretty close by, if he's reading it correctly. He furrows his brows and his eyes sweep across the grounds to the wood nearby.

There, at the edge of the trees, he spots Gabriel, Archangel of the fucking Lord, warrior, big brother, and pagan God, Loki - now sobbing uncontrollably.

"Cas?"

"There."

Dean scrunches his face up but gets the clue and turns his head to the right.

"Is that...?"

"Yes."

Gabriel's eyes twitch to them suddenly and gasps, still sniffling, and stares at them defiantly, not moving. His throat bobs in silenced cries, desperate to escape but he remains steadfast, frown shivering in his attempt to not let them see his tears.

Dean doesn't break eye contact as eyebrows pull up and in and he works his lower jaw, before finally giving in to his sympathy for the other angel.

"Guess he loved him as much as I did, huh?"

Cas' eyes drop to the grass and he turns away from his crying brother, tears beginning to stream down his own face.

"We all loved him, Dean. All of us. Certainly some more than others. But..."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know."

They start forward again and, after three more gravel pathways, reach their destination.

Dean approaches slowly, his lip finally giving out and curling under itself and his teeth bearing themselves like medals, as if depressed sobbing is something to be awarded.

He swallows his tears, though, and takes one more step forward, lowering his head and crouching, then gingerly setting the cake down on the grass. He doesn't get up as he mumbles his next words.

"Happy birthday, Sammy," Dean says to the marble slab of stone nestled into the earth in front of him, suddenly unable to see the engraving of his brother's name through his tears. "I miss you..."

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus Christ why can't I just write a happy fluffy fic for once in my damn life. Ugh. Just one, that's all I'm asking. But nooooo, all of them are angsty, sad, and emotionally destructive. I'm so sorry for any depressive constipation I've caused.
> 
> Anyway, I apologise again for any mistakes and if anyone is OOC.


End file.
